Newport folk fesitval
So, I’m not big into GET THE MAN crap and all that jazz (no pun intended) but this weekend at the Newport Folk Festival, (for which I battled 6 friggin’ hours of traffic on the Connecticut Freeway -it’s only supposed to take three) with my mother telling me to TURN AROUND and come home (every 30 minutes or so on the cell — maybe because I kept calling her and telling her I was in friggin’ bumper to bumper and I don’t know what to do) and by the time I finally got to the festival to see one of my favorite groups (SWELL SEASON) to sing, I was ready to KILL someone and this BE THE MAN. (Not sure if that is the correct venacular, but you get my drift.)
So, apparently there is a “rule” that all the screaming (well, not really screaming, this is a folk festival after all–do these people look they are about to jump on the stage and wrap their sweaty bras around Glen’s head? They don’t EVEN own bra’s.)
Back to the screaming fans, so “we” are allowed to stand next to the stage for 3 songs and take pictures. But that’s it just 3. And then the ASSHOLE started chasing us out after only TWO and Glen’s all like HEY, WHERE YOU THEY GOING? (In case you don’t know, Glen is Glen Hansard of Swell Season) WHY ARE YOU LEAVING??? And then we say, he’s making us! Glen, my new hero says in his adorable Irish accent FUCK EM, if those people who are sitting down can’t see, let ‘em stand up. So of course Asshole turns red and is very upset because the one thing that he has to his ego is that blazing SECURITY label on his bright yellow shirt. That and a god damn walkie talkie.